


While the whole wide world is fast asleep

by savvyliterate



Series: Lessons for Lonely Hearts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyliterate/pseuds/savvyliterate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock Holmes commandeers Molly Hooper's bedroom, dismisses her fiancé, steals her bag of peas, and learns the importance of consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While the whole wide world is fast asleep

**Author's Note:**

> I certainly hadn't planned on a sequel to "The wee small hours of the morning," but the thought of Sherlock commandeering Molly's bedroom led to the rest of the story. The fic title comes from Frank Sinatra's song "The wee small hours of the morning." Much thanks to areyoumarriedriver for the beta! This fic takes place between "The Sign of Three" and "His Last Vow" and contains spoilers for both.

“A change in our arrangement, if you don’t mind, Molly. I require the use of your bedroom. Your sofa is hideously small, and the lumbar support is quite poor. Considering you inherited it from your father and it was purchased at an extremely dodgy secondhand shop to begin with, I suggest you upgrade at some point. I, gladly, will pay you double for use of your bed.”

Molly found herself staring at the door to her wardrobe as Sherlock swept through her flat and into her bedroom. In the kitchen, she heard the distinctive clash of dinner being dropped on the ground. She rested her head against the door when she really, really wanted to bang her head against it.  “ _Sherlock_.”

“Oh. I seem to have committed a faux pas.”

She turned around just as Sherlock removed his overcoat and tossed it on her bed. “What makes you say that?”

“The slightly exasperated tone in which you said my name. It has not gone unnoticed over the years. I thought you’d gotten rid of your problem?”

“What problem?”

Sherlock pivoted as Tom approached the doorway. “What are you-,” he started to ask.

“Molly does not wish to be engaged to you any longer. While she has not told me this outright, her pent-up libido from at least half a year of no sex, her inability to give up a costly flat to live more cheaply with you -- oh and the rent is going up again, Molly -- combined with the fact I found a very cheap engagement ring among my femurs and that she spent the night with me after stabbing you in the hand with a fork all indicate that she does not wish to continue a relationship with you. Now, I will send the ring right along, or would you like for me to return it in your name to Boodles? Oh, quite sorry, I mean to Tesco.”

“Now, see here!” Tom tried to shove his way past Sherlock, and he merely shot him a grin and slammed the door in his face.

Molly was quite sure her jaw was somewhere on the other side of the planet.

“Right! Where were we? Oh, arrangements.” Sherlock turned back to Molly just in time for her hand to meet his cheek. He stumbled back from the force of the slap. Because he was blocking the door, Molly stomped on his foot. He yelped and hopped out of the way just as she yanked the door open. When it smacked him in the eye, she felt no remorse. “Tom!” she yelled, dashing into the lounge, then the kitchen. The dropped pan where Tom had been about to serve their meal was still on the floor, bits of food splashed onto cabinets. On the center of her kitchen table sat the key she’d given him and a Post-It with an address where she could send her ring and the terse words, “You got what you wanted,” scrawled on it.

Hands shaking, she picked up the Post-It note just as Sherlock walked into the kitchen and made straight for the freezer. He pulled out a bag of peas and held them to his eye.

“My engagement,” Molly said softly. “You ended my engagement.”

“You can express your gratitude later. I have a couple questions for you-”

“You ended _my_ engagement!” she repeated, her voice rising with every syllable until she shouted at him. “How dare you!”

Sherlock just blinked at her. “I do not see anything that I should apologize for. It was clear that you wanted to end it.”

Molly snarled and yanked the peas away from him and shoved him into the refrigerator. “Just because I wanted to end it doesn’t give you the right to do it for me! You waltz into my flat and took that decision out of my hands to make your life more convenient. You do _not_ speak for me, Sherlock Holmes!” She shoved the peas back in his hands and turned her back on him.

“You are quite violent when you don’t have regular sexual intercourse.”

“ _Sherlock!_ ”

“Does this mean you won’t allow me to utilize your bedroom?”

She threw up her hands. “Fine! Fine, use my bedroom! You clearly have taken over every other aspect of my life!”

“Excellent!” Sherlock strode back into the lounge. “Clean up that mess, then I require your services.”

Molly whipped around to slap him again, but he was gone. “And what sort of services do you require?” she demanded as she marched toward the lounge.

“I need you to teach me how to be a boyfriend.”

Molly promptly ran into the doorway.

“You really should get your vision checked. That entrance was clearly marked.”

She rubbed her forehead and wondered if she was dreaming, or if her life was really some horrid sitcom. “Why do you need me to teach you how to be a boyfriend?”

“Two-fold situation. I have never had a real girlfriend, ergo I lack the proper knowledge. I cannot ask my brother, because I highly doubt he’s ever made love to anything but the British government. I cannot ask John or Mary, because it indirectly involves them, and they are on their honeymoon. I _will not_ ask Mrs. Hudson or my mother. Ergo, as the only female in my life with any degree of competency, despite your atrocious taste in men, you are the only one suited to educate me on how to be a boyfriend.”

“How does this involve John and Mary?” Tiredly, Molly made her way to the sofa and sank onto it. Every lump was painfully noticeable.

“Mutual acquaintance of theirs. Hence the other reason I ask for your knowledge.” Now he fidgeted with the peas, tossing the bag from hand to hand. “I do not wish for you to get the wrong impression from what I’m about to do.” 

“Which is?”

“I need to go undercover for a case. To do so, I need to acquire a girlfriend. A specific girlfriend.”

“Why would you think I-” She cut off, not wanting to finish the sentence or hear his answer. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Well, the evening was just getting odder and odder. She’d been a single woman for less than 20 minutes, and Sherlock Holmes was asking her for dating tips. “OK. OK, so it’s all an act. Right. Well, to start with, you don’t go doing what you just did.”

“Which is?”

Molly sighed, suddenly exhausted. “March into her home and make decisions for her, no matter how well-intentioned. This isn’t some bodice-ripper romance. If you see something that you don’t agree with, you tell her and let her deal with it on her own.” She glanced up to see Sherlock scribbling in a notebook and wasn’t surprised one whit.

“I did give you 48 hours before taking this matter into my own hands. It was far more expedient. What did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“What did you tell him when he inquired about your ring?”

Molly glanced at her naked ring finger. “I said it was getting cleaned.”

\-----

She ordered Sherlock to sleep on the sofa, but wasn’t surprised when she turned over in the middle of the night and spotted him on the other side of her bed. He was fully dressed and reading the mystery novel that Tom abandoned. “Sherlock,” she whispered. “Why are you in my bed?”

“Your couch is a hideous form of torture. Lesson learned, do not piss off Molly Hooper. Plus, if I am to have a girlfriend, I would need to share the same bed as her at times. I am not accustomed to sleeping with anyone, so I wanted to practice with you.” He set aside the book. “Dreadful book. The murderer is plainly obvious from the beginning, but the author deliberately drags it on another 300 pages. Useless.”

“That’s J.K. Rowling’s book!”

“Like I said. Useless.” He turned on his side. “How do you sleep with a man?”

“Umm … he doesn’t have on any clothes normally. Not naked, unless we’ve had sex, but stripped down to his boxers or wearing pyjamas. You did bring some, right?”

“I sleep in the nude. I don’t care to have anything encumbering me in my sleep.”

Unbidden, the image of a naked Sherlock sprang to mind, and Molly bit her lip. “Right. Well. Clothes it is.”

“How do you prefer to be held?”

“Held?”

“Which one of the accepted cuddling positions do you wish to be held in?”

“I ah-”

“Traditional,” Sherlock decided. “Go on now, turn over.”

She did it, only because she was caught off guard. “I don’t understand what you-” She cut off as he proceeded to spoon himself against her. He pulled her flush against his body, and suddenly she was pressed against him. Her bum fit neatly against his groin, and he slipped an arm just under her breasts.

“Is that comfortable?” he asked.

It took Molly several tries before her vocal cords remembered how to function. “You didn’t ask,” she rasped. “You need to ask the woman permission before touching her intimately.”

“When a man and a woman are intimate, don’t they reach some sort of understanding on this sort of matter?” He used his free hand and held up his phone, scanning a website. “Ah, it says to nuzzle her neck. Tell me if I’m doing it right?” He pressed his nose into her hair, then moved down to her neck. She shivered, and everything inside her went loose.

“Yes. Yes, but not on the very first date. And for Pete’s sake.” Molly snatched the mobile out of Sherlock’s hand and tossed it off the side of the bed. “No,” she ordered as he started to get up. “You can’t be consulting your mobile when you’re with someone. Just go on instinct.”

“I lack instinct. That’s why I have you.”

Molly closed her eyes and counted to five. Then, she counted to five again. “Just trust me. Mobiles in bed are not sexy. You have to convince her this is a real relationship.”

“That would include sexual intercourse, correct?”

The thought of Sherlock having sexual intercourse with anyone made her stomach lurch. No, no, she was past all that. She wasn’t jealous of some unnamed woman that Sherlock was seducing for a case. She and Sherlock were friends. Friends, friends, friends – oh God, _he was cupping her breast_.

Those long, slim fingers danced up the curve of her breast through her pyjamas, smoothed over the nipple, then he cupped her. She barely caught the whimper as he tested the weight. “It doesn’t always require sex,” she managed. “Usually, you want to engage in some kissing. Some foreplay. If it’s really distasteful to you, just tell her you’re waiting for marriage.”

“Noted. How physical?” His hand swept down over her stomach. She pressed her thighs together.

“You have to keep her interested.”

“You’re interested. Your pheromones are spiking.”

“There’s little scientific proof about that.”

“Regardless, you’re exhibiting classic signs of arousal. Flushed skin, your pupils most likely are dilated. Your nipples are distended, and you’re most likely wet.” His hands lingered near the waist of her pyjamas, but even he knew better than not to be that intimate without permission.

Slowly, she turned onto her back. He loomed over her, and she could just make out his features in the dark. “Sherlock.”

“How physical?” he asked again.

“Without actual intercourse?” she whispered.

“Exactly.”

She wet her lips. “As physical as you’re comfortable with. If you’re not comfortable, then there’s no point in going on. Anyone who has real affection for you wouldn’t want to see you forced to do something you don’t want. It goes both ways, Sherlock. Sex or any sort of physical intimacy has to be consensual from both sides.”

“I see.” He absently stroked the exposed skin of her stomach where her pyjama top had ridden up. “Might I explore you more? Of my own free will?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but she swallowed it back. It was everything she’d dared allow herself to dream of all those years ago, when she stuttered and stammered around Sherlock and bought hideous lipstick in vain attempts to impress him. He’d come swanning into her home, he dismissed her now-ex with a few choice words, now he wanted to use her as practice for a mission that involved acquiring a girlfriend. She had more self-respect than that. But the needy side, the libido that had gone into hibernation around Tom for the better part of a year, roared back to life. She closed her eyes. Hell, her life had been one roller coaster after another since she agreed to shelter Sherlock nearly two and a half years earlier. She needed this. She _deserved_ this. She would deal with the emotional fallout the same way she always did -- by hiding the damage.

She nodded.

His fingers slipped beneath the waist of her pyjama pants and brushed over her knickers. They trailed over the apex of her thighs, and her legs splayed open. He trailed a fingernail up the damp crotch of her knickers, then pushing them aside, lightly traced over her opening. “Women get quite wet down there, don’t they?’

She exhaled slowly and tried very hard not to come just from the light touch alone. “It depends, yeah.”

He stoked over her opening, fingers dipping in and out slightly, brow furrowed. “You’re not getting any pleasure out of it.”

“I won’t like that. Move a bit higher.”

“Where?”

“A bit more. A bit-” She cut off as he found her clit and gasped. “Oh, there, _there_!”

His eyes lit up. “Ah, the clitoris! Yes, the pornography I’ve seen has been quite specific about-”

“Oh, shut up about porn,” she snapped. “Keep going.”

He frowned, but did her bidding. Her legs opened wider, and her hips began to move against his hand.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “I’m not going to last.”

“Last?”

“Use your fingers,” she commanded. “Slip them inside me. Keep using your thumb on my clit.”

It took him a moment to work it out, but he complied. He slid two fingers inside her, curling up just as his thumb brushed over her clit. Lost in anything but her own pleasure, she gave a keening wail as he brought her to a shattering orgasm. When she collapsed onto her pillow, he slowly pulled his hand out of her pants and stared at the glistening moisture on his fingers. There was something unidentifiable in his eyes for a couple seconds, then it was gone. He gave them an experimental lick. “A bit salty,” he observed. “Would I be expected to perform cunnilingus?”

Molly ignored him. Sleepily, she turned into him and brushed a hand over his trousers. When she found them tented, him hard beneath, it nearly shocked her out of her post-orgasmic stupor. “You do get aroused,” she said, quietly astonished.

“Of course I do,” he said stiffly, and Molly was quite sure Sherlock was blushing.

Her hand lay lightly on him. “It’s common to reciprocate. Would you like-”

“No,” he snapped, then took a deep breath. “No. Thank you. I don’t feel comfortable like that yet.”

“All right.” Molly pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and settled down to sleep.

“That’s it?”

“Of course. No means no, that’s for both people.” She yawned. “Remember that, and you’ll be fine. If she doesn’t, then she’s just a slag. Good night, Sherlock.” Within a minute, Molly was asleep. And when she woke, Sherlock was gone.

When she shuffled into her kitchen, she saw it was spotless. Where the Post-It note from Tom had lain, her mobile sat with the text indicator glowing. She picked it up and saw one message waiting.

_Post-It notes are terribly passé. I feel I need more lessons in being an adequate boyfriend. Come to 221B and pick up your ring, and you can provide additional assistance. — S_

Molly smiled and felt her heart slowly roll over in her chest. “Oh, hell,” she muttered.


End file.
